Euthanasia
by Cymoril Avalon
Summary: Spencer really should have known better than to pair up Albert Wesker and William Birkin; different as night and day, they still managed to culture a very unusual friendship. Pre-game interaction.


Disclaimer: I don't own Resident Evil, or the characters held herein. If I did...well, it's best not to go there.

Summary: Just some old-fashioned Birkin-Wesker interaction. I find their friendship fascinating.

* * *

"Amazing…"

"She still retains minimal cognitive ability."

"Sort of like your last girlfriend."

Wesker looked at him.

"Sorry."

"This is a breakthrough, William. Don't make light of it."

They watched the undead woman shuffle around a makeshift maze, steadily making her way towards where the prize was being held: a gagged, squirming human snack.

She managed to remember which were dead ends and how to track back to where she started. It wasn't much - mice showed more problem-solving capabilities - but for a zombie, it was pretty monumental.

"I wonder if she'll learn to talk."

"She wouldn't have anything useful to say."

"The parallels are amazing, Albert. Are you sure there isn't something you're not telling me?"

"The victim is fourteen."

"Really, now." Birkin immediately perked up. "What a waste."

Shambling into a wall, a rancid piece of flesh fell from the zombie, and she made a peculiar grunting sound. It was loud enough to reach the captive's ears, and she began that tiresome muffled screaming again, as if someone would hear her pleas.

Half-naked, the girl dangled from the ceiling by a piece of rope, chafing her wrists an angry red, trickles of blood slicking her skin as proof of her attempted escape. The scent only provoked the zombie further, and it returned to the hunt with greater enthusiasm.

"It's reminiscent of a Hunter," Birkin mused, cocking his head. "What did you do to it, Albert?"

Absently, the blonde gestured to a pile of notes neatly stacked on a corner of the observation desk, covered with his precise writing. Unable to hold his curiosity for long, Birkin plucked a few pages and began to read, his eyebrows slowly raising.

"Remarkable. How long has this testing been going on?"

"A few years."

"And you never told me? I thought we were friends."

The zombie was leaving putrid slime in its wake; perhaps it was keeping track of the corridors and turn-offs using its own residue. The closer it grew to its prey, the more excitable it appeared, pieces of its skin shivering in anticipation.

"Are you sure this was a good idea?"

Wesker patted the magnum at his hip. "I can take care of any problems."

"No, I meant the girl. Did you have to use someone that attractive? You could have given her to me. My experiments are at least a little less fatal."

"She was chosen at random."

"Do you have a room full of them?"

"Why, do you want one?"

"Or three."

"Don't you have funding?"

"Spencer has been strangely thrifty lately." Birkin sniffed, tossing his hair out of his eyes. "I think he's jealous."

"Have you made any breakthroughs?"

"Well…"

"You have to provide results."

"I have. I just never showed him." Birkin was fidgeting by now, fighting with the conflicting urges to keep his work a secret and to finally share it with someone who wasn't on the verge of dying violently. "It's not perfected yet, of course…it still requires a lot of testing…"

"And Spencer has no idea you're doing it?"

"Well, he knows; he requested it. He simply isn't aware of how far I've gotten."

"You got the Hunters to breed?" Wesker sounded mildly surprised.

"What? No. He wants that? Is it even possible?"

"Anything is possible."

"Yeah, given enough time and money, and the properly applied genius." An unsubtle pause. "Meaning us."

"Hush, William. Look."

Birkin dragged his attention back to the zombie, who had finally entered the middle chamber housing the trussed up girl, and it was staring with its dead eyes as if it were observing the entrance to a heavenly afterlife sprawled out for the taking. Its facial muscles barely moved, but Birkin imagined that it was smiling.

As much as a zombie could smile, anyway.

The girl went still, sensing danger, her head craning backwards in an attempt to see what the threat was. If she hadn't been facing the other entrance, she likely would have gone into an impressive panic; as it was, her breathing grew harsh, and she began tugging at the rope again, breaking open her wounds and spilling fresh blood into the room.

Had she remained still, she might have clung to life for a few more precious moments, but that scent drove the zombie wild. It made a surprisingly deep scream, though a piece of its tongue went flying out, ruining the impressive moment, and it headed to the girl with a speed it hadn't shown thus far.

Both men watched impassively as the girl was torn apart. It wasn't pretty, and it took a while for her to die, but neither Wesker nor Birkin were moved; they had witnessed death so many times, it failed to affect them any longer. Birkin occasionally wondered how long he would mourn should something happen to Annette.

Blood sprayed against the protective glass separating them from the maze, at least a hundred feet off the ground. Birkin reached, his fingers tracing over the liquid, though his skin remained clean.

"Gory," he commented.

"I think it's enjoying the activity."

"I would, too."

"I imagine your actions would only slightly differ."

"Just a bit." His tone turned petulant. "Couldn't you have used someone in poorer health?"

"I could have."

"I'm never going to forgive you for this."

"I imagine not."

The mutilated body of the girl finally stopped twitching, though the zombie had begun its feast quite some time ago. Making a few notes on his clipboard, Wesker adjusted his sunglasses, expression as smooth as always.

Birkin turned his attention back to the papers in his hand, quickly scrolling through them and reaching for more. He found the topic fascinating, and was more than a little irritated that Wesker hadn't approached him for help from the outset; he would have loved to be on the developing team for this, let alone taking a more active part in the execution.

"I believe this was a success."

"Wesker…"

"What is it?"

"…what's the thing doing?"

They both peered through the muck covering the glass, watching as the zombie tore chunks of meat off the body and set them aside, as if meaning to horde them for later. Birkin worried his lower lip, not especially liking what he saw.

If this thing got loose, and there were others like it…the entire facility could be in danger.

Wesker's thoughts seemed to travel the same path. "The doors are reinforced, William, and it can't jump high enough to reach us. Lickers are more intelligent, and more dangerous."

"What if it continues in its forced evolution?"

"I certainly hope it does."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"You should know better than to ask it. The possibilities are endless."

"I liked you better when you were fixated on Hunters."

"Who says my attention has strayed?" Wesker pressed a button, speaking evenly. "This is Beta Lab requesting a containment and cleanup crew in the fourth laboratory."

"Authorization?"

"Albert Wesker, identification code G478L21B."

"Thank you. I'll dispatch a team, Mr. Wesker."

"Will the zombie get to keep its prize?" Birkin inquired, replacing the notes back on the desk haphazardly.

Wesker reached out, straightening the stack. "Parts of it."


End file.
